


Burn With You

by areyoucoldflash (hellosterek)



Series: KillerWave Week [1]
Category: DC's Legends of Tomorrow (TV), The Flash (TV 2014)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Doctors, Alternate Universe - Firefighters, F/M, KillerWaveWeek2016, rarepair
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-07
Updated: 2016-06-07
Packaged: 2018-07-12 18:52:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,504
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7118305
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hellosterek/pseuds/areyoucoldflash
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mick is just a single parent, struggling to make ends meet while taking care of his son. Caitlin is just the school nurse who maybe cares a little too much.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Burn With You

**Author's Note:**

> A part of KillerWaveWeek2016 on Tumblr.
> 
> I may continue this for another prompt.

“Hey dad?”

“Yeah, Quent?” Mick murmured.

“You ever think about dating?”

Mick looked up from his food and raised his eyebrows at his son. “Why would I do that?”

Quentin shrugged, pushing his steak and potatoes around his plate. “Don’t you miss mom?”

Mick frowned and set his fork down. “Of course I do, but what’s that—“

Quentin shrugged, avoiding his father’s gaze. “I miss having a mom.”

Mick watched his son for a moment, taking in his red hair and slender, freckled face. He was looking more like his mom every day and every time Mick looked at him he was reminded that she wasn’t there anymore. And he was reminded that it was his fault she was gone.

“Quentin…“ Mick began, mind racing for something to say. Because what was there to say? That he was sorry? That his mom — _Mick’s wife_ — would still be alive if it wasn’t for Mick? That Mick couldn’t…that _no woman_ would ever be able to replace her?

Quentin sighed. “Can I be excused?”

Those were Sandra’s manners too, manners Mick didn’t even have to try to enforce when she died.

“Yeah, son, you can go.”

Quentin nodded and scrambled out of the room, leaving Mick alone with his thoughts.

Every year got a little harder, with Mick working full time at the fire station and Quentin getting older and more active. Mick didn’t have much time to spare and on more than one occasion he had to miss one of Quentin’s basketball or soccer games. If it wasn’t for their neighbors and their son Michael, Mick wouldn’t know what to do. He’d never really imagined himself as a single dad.

Eying his son’s half-eaten plate of food, Mick sighed and got up to take care of the dishes. Truthfully, there wasn’t a day that went by that he didn’t miss Sandra. Every time he looked at their son, ran into a burning building, or sat alone in the house that she had decorated, he was reminded of her. He wasn’t ready to get back out there again — not when those last moments with Sandra were still so fresh in his mind, not when the sound of her voice or the color of her eyes still haunted his dreams.

~*~

Mick was worried. He was worried and he was running terribly, terribly late.

He opened the front door of the school and rushed toward the front desk. “Fuck, I’m late. I know. I’m sorry.”

A pretty brunette looked up from a conversation with wide eyes. “Mr. Rory?”

He stared at her, putting his hands on his hips while he caught his breath. “Yeah.”

She smiled and got to her feet. A long, white cardigan fell down around her waist when she stood and stepped out from behind the front desk, offering her hand. “I’m Caitlin Snow. I’m the one who called you.”

Mick nodded and shook her hand. “Right, the school nurse. Sorry I couldn’t get here earlier. Got stuck at work.”

She waved him off. “Not a problem. I called you at work, I knew it could be a while.”

He managed a small, half-smile. “So, what’s this about?”

Caitlin tucked some hair behind her ear and glanced around at the students wandering the hallway. “Why don’t we talk about this in my office?”

“Oh, yeah, sure,” Mick agreed stiltedly, following her down the narrow hallway. Inside her office, he was surprised to find his son curled up on the cot.

Caitlin motioned for him to sit down and took a seat at the desk against the wall. She swiveled her chair around and smiled at him.

Mick sat down uncertainly, the chair a little too small (and infinitely less comfortable) for him. He glanced around the small office, noticing the degrees and certifications framed and hanging on the walls. More noticeable, however, were the drawings done by the students. He even spotted one made by Quentin. In the drawing there was a small Christmas tree with a family sitting around it, opening presents. Mick noticed a ribbon sitting on what he assumed to be the mom’s head. He frowned. Santa definitely wouldn’t be delivering that gift.

Caitlin noticed him looking and smiled sadly, speaking quietly, “He made that for me last year around Christmas. I think he knew I was feeling a little sad that day.”

Mick furrowed his eyebrows and eyed her, wondering what she could have to be upset about. Instead of prying, he grunted. “He come see you often?”

She nodded, averting her gaze to the boy. “A lot more recently. That’s actually what I wanted to talk to you about.”

Mick frowned. “He ain’t sick is he?”

That was one of his biggest fears as a father. He’d helped Quentin through numerous fevers since his mother died (and even a broken bone or two), but if something was seriously wrong…he wasn’t sure how he’d be able to make it through that alone. Most days, he wasn’t sure how he was supposed to make it through _anything_ alone.

“No, nothing like that.” She bit her lip, choosing her words carefully. Nodding with resolve, she folded her hands in her lap and sat forward, meeting his gaze. “It’s just that…this is the fourth time this week he’s come to my office.”

Mick raised his eyebrows. “Why’s this the first I’m hearing about it?”

She pursed her lips. “Because he usually asks me not to call you.”

He scoffed and sat back in his chair, torn between feeling angry at the doc for not informing him that his son’s been missing class and feeling upset that Quentin didn’t feel like they should bother him.

He breathed evenly through his nose. “Someone shoulda told me sooner.”

She nodded. “You’re right. You’re absolutely right. I guess I just hoped that it was something he’d grow out of? That maybe he was just going through a lot…maybe at home?”

He narrowed his eyes. “What’re you trying to say?”

Her eyes widened. “Oh, nothing! I didn’t mean—“

“I know what you _meant_ ,” Mick spat, his voice loud enough to make Quentin stir. “I’m a single father working a full-time job, alright? I’m doing the best I can!”

Caitlin shook her head. “I’m sure you are—“

“And I don’t need some school nurse with a fancy degree and certification to tell me when something’s wrong with my son!” he continued angrily, getting to his feet.

Caitlin hesitantly stood up. “Mr. Rory, I didn’t mean to imply—“

When Quentin sat up and began rubbing his eyes, Mick grabbed his wrist. “Come on, Quent, it’s time to go home.”

“Mr. Rory! If you would just hang on a second!” Caitlin called, following them into the hallway.

Mick spun around. “Listen here, lady, I don’t care who you are. There’s nothing going on at home that I don’t know about. Quentin and I are getting on just fine. So, you can take your fancy degree and shove it up your—“

“Dad!” Quentin interrupted, tugging on his hand. He was looking around the crowded hallway with wide eyes, his cheeks turning red. He ducked his head and stared at his feet instead.

Mick stared at Caitlin for a beat longer before taking a look at his son and realizing what he’d done. He glanced around the hallway with a sneer. “What are you brats looking at?”

The kids pushed one another out of the way and scurried away, disappearing into classrooms.

Mick tightened his grip on his son’s hand and turned toward the exit. “Come on, Quentin. We’re going home.”

~*~

As soon as they were home, Quentin made a dash for his room.

“Damn it, Quentin! Get back here!” Mick called after him.

The boy paused on the staircase, turning to his dad. “I can’t believe you said all that to Ms. Snow — in front of the _whole student body_.”

Mick rolled his eyes at the exaggeration. “That school should mind their own business.”

“She was just trying to help, dad!” Quentin argued.

“I don’t need anyone’s help!” Mick yelled.

“Well, I do!” Quentin screamed, tears glistening in his eyes. “I do, dad.”

Mick’s heart sank and he took a step forward. “Quentin—“

“Forget it.” Quentin shook his head and ran up the stairs, slamming his bedroom door behind him.

~*~

Mick had never dealt with this before. He’d been on the receiving end of Quentin’s temper tantrums numerous times after Sandra died, but it’d never been like this. There’d never been a screaming match that ended in Quentin locking himself in his bedroom and blasting music. He knew it was only a matter of time before something like this happened. He’d been warned by the guys at the fire station that the older kids got, the harder it was to raise them. He’d been hoping he had at least a year left before Quentin hit this stage. He never thought he’d be taking so much lip from his twelve year old. He’d also never thought he’d have to raise him on his own.

“Quentin?” Mick asked for the third time that hour. He balanced the plate of food on his arm and tried the handle again. He sighed when he still found it locked. “Quent, dinner’s ready.”

When he heard nothing but music on the other side of the door, he swore under his breath and set the plate down next to Sandra’s favorite vase. “Quentin? I’m leaving your dinner in the hall, alright?”

He listened for any sign of recognition, but got none. Running a hand over his face, he went back downstairs and poured himself a tall glass of fireball whiskey. He hadn’t sat down to have a drink in a while — not since he realized just how much his mood was affecting his son — but he sure needed it now.

Maybe the school nurse had had a point. Maybe he didn’t know everything that was going on under his roof. Maybe Quentin was going through something. One thing was for sure, he sure as hell couldn’t do this on his own. He was nothing but a fuck-up himself.

Touching a hand to a picture of Sandra, he knocked back the rest of his whiskey and felt his nose burn. He pinched the bridge of his nose and tried to ward off the tears. 

 _Fuck_ , this was all his fault.

A knock at the front door kept him from pouring another glass and he pushed himself to his feet, wiping his eyes with his arm before going to answer the door. When he opened it, he was a little surprised to find a pretty brunette on the other side. The same pretty brunette he had so rudely yelled at earlier that afternoon.

She gazed at him with wide, observant eyes and Mick knew she could see that he was falling apart. Of course she could. He looked like shit.

She frowned at him. “You left Quentin’s bag at school.”

He went to take it from her, realizing he still had his empty glass in one hand and the picture frame held tightly in the other. He cleared his throat and set down the picture, taking the bag from her. “Thanks.”

She nodded. “I got his homework from his teachers too. I put it in his bag.”

He nodded, glancing down at the bag in his hand. The same bag that his wife had bought for Quentin when he moved up into the fourth grade. Everything in his life belonged to his deceased wife. Hell, even the electric razor he used to shave was a Christmas gift from her. There was nothing that didn’t remind him of her.

“About earlier—“ Mick began.

Caitlin held up her hands. “Don’t worry about it. What I said earlier came out wrong. You’re doing a wonderful job with Quentin. He’s very smart.”

Mick’s lips twitched at that. He was pretty sure that was the first time anyone had ever complimented his parenting skills — what little he had, anyway.

She mirrored his smile. “I just worry about him, you know? He’s a great kid. I’d hate to see him fall behind because he spent too many of his classes sleeping in my office.”

Mick furrowed his eyebrows. “Is that what he does?”

She nodded. “Yeah, whenever he comes in, he usually gets an hour or so of sleep. Why?”

He frowned, remembering something about Quentin having nightmares after Sandra died. He hadn’t said anything in a while, so Mick had just assumed they went away.

He shook his head. “Nothing.”

He eyed her in the doorway, noticing that she’d swapped the long white cardigan for a light gray peacoat. It was then that he felt the nip in the air outside. He took a small step back. “You wanna come in?”

She bowed her head with a small laugh. “I wouldn’t want to impose.”

He smirked and shook his head. “Least I can do after I yelled at ya earlier. Come on, we got plenty of food.”

Caitlin gazed at him for a moment before smiling. “Well, okay.”

He grinned, stepping to the side to let her in. He noticed her eyeing the empty glass in his hand and cleared his throat. “I was just…having a drink. D’you want anything?”

She shook her head. “Water will be fine, thanks.”

He nodded to himself and dropped the backpack by the stairs to be brought up later. He led her to the kitchen and motioned toward the dining table. “Make yourself at home. I’ll get you a plate.”

Caitlin took a seat, shrugging out of her jacket while Mick got her plate ready. She took a moment to look around her, noticing the artwork on the walls and the victorian-style moulding. “You have a beautiful house.”

Mick paused what he was doing, gathering himself, and grunted, “Thanks. My wife designed all this herself before…”

Caitlin frowned, managing a small smile in thanks when he set the plate of spaghetti and glass of water in front of her. She watched as he took a seat across from her with his own plate of food and a refilled glass of whiskey. Twirling some noodles around her fork, she chose her words carefully. “How long has it been?”

He stared at his food, gripping his glass a little tighter. “A year and a half next month.”

She nodded. That explained Quentin’s behavior. She took a small bite of her food, surprised by the flavor of the sauce and briefly wondered if he’d made it himself. “And have you ever…”

He stared at her blankly. “What?”

She shrugged, trying very hard not to offend him again. It was obvious that family was a sensitive subject for him. “Have you ever thought about remarrying?”

His expression dropped, all emotion seemingly seeping off his face in a matter of seconds. He furrowed his eyebrows and glared at his food. “No.”

“I’m sorry,” she said quickly. “It’s none of my business.”

Mick sighed and closed his eyes. “No, it’s…it’s okay. I don’t talk about it much.” He pushed his food around on his plate. “It’s…hard to talk about.”

She looked at him in surprise. “Have you ever talked to anyone about losing her?”

He shook his head, swirling the amber liquid around his glass.

She smiled sadly. “Look, I know it’s not my place to say…and I definitely have no room to talk, but maybe talking about it with someone could help.” She paused to make sure he understood where she was coming from. “And I’m not just talking about you, Mr. Rory, I’m talking about Quentin too.”

“Mick.”

“I’m sorry?”

He looked up at her with a weak smile. “Call me Mick.”

She returned his smile and nodded. “Okay, _Mick_. You can call me Caitlin.”

Hearing footsteps on the staircase, Mick glanced toward the door in time to see Quentin come in with an empty plate. Quentin paused in the doorway, looking between the two of them.

“Nice of you to come down, Quentin,” Mick commented pointedly, taking a sip from his glass. He nodded toward Caitlin. “The nurse brought your homework.”

Quentin’s eyebrows pulled together and after a moment he nodded, putting his dish in the sink.

“Quentin,” Mick stated firmly.

“What?” he snapped, the plate clattering to the bottom of the sink.

Mick’s hand tightened around his glass. “Say thank you to Ms. Snow.”

“Oh, that’s not necessary—“ Caitlin began, shaking her head.

“It is,” Mick insisted, wondering where the hell Quentin’s manners had gone all of a sudden. “Quentin!”

“Fine!” Quentin said angrily, spinning around to glare at them. “Thank you! There! You happy?”

“Quentin—“

“Maybe I should go,” Caitlin stated lightly, slowly getting to her feet.

“No, stay,” Mick insisted, getting to his feet and turning to his son. “Quentin, what the hell is wrong with you?”

“What’s wrong with _me_?” Quentin echoed, light blue eyes narrowing. “What’s wrong with _you_ , dad? First, you show up at my school and embarrass me in front of _everyone_. Then you act like this is all _my fault_. I’ve _told you_ what’s wrong, dad, but you don’t listen! You never listen! And you’re never there when I need you! At least when mom was alive, she _always_ knew what was wrong. But you? You don’t know anything! You don’t even pay attention! _You don’t care!_ ”

“Like hell I don’t!” Mick yelled. “Quentin, you are the most important thing I have!”

“Yeah?” Quentin asked, bottom lip wobbling. He shook his head. “Then start acting like it.”

Mick felt like a weight had landed on his chest as he watched Quentin run through the house and back up the stairs. He heard the loud music turn back on in Quentin’s room and, defeated, he collapsed back in his chair. He stared at the whiskey glass in his hand, turning it around between his fingers and curling his fingers tightly around it. He felt his hands begin to shake and tightened his jaw, swearing before throwing the glass against the wall beside him, the glass bursting and clattering to the floor.

Caitlin flinched and closed her eyes, taking a steadying breath. Slowly, she came over and laid a hand on Mick’s arm, squeezing gently. “I’m gonna go talk to him.”

Mick closed his eyes against the tears that were falling, unbidden, down his cheeks. He listened to the click of her heels as she made her way up the stairs and felt like everything he had worked so hard for was falling, broken, at his feet. He didn’t know how to do this on his own. He didn’t know how to balance working three twelve hour day shifts and then four fourteen hour night shifts in a row and finding time to raise a kid. He was already killing himself as it was. What did Quentin expect him to do?

He expected Mick to be there for him, that much was obvious, but when he had so much responsibility at work and had no extra help? What was he supposed to do?

Hiding his face in his hands, Mick ground his palms against his eyes and tried to even his breathing. Crying over the situation wasn’t going to help. Drinking his pain away also wouldn’t help — at least, not much. They were just temporary fixes to a more-than-temporary problem. This was a problem that wasn’t going to go away on its own. He had to deal with it head-on…if not for himself, then he had to do it for Quentin.

~*~

By the time Caitlin came downstairs it was nearing ten o’clock and there were only a few lights on downstairs. She checked the kitchen, noticing that the glass of whiskey had been cleaned up off the floor, and then followed the sound of the television into the den. She paused in the doorway, looking in on Mick as he sat in his chair, staring unseeingly at a rerun of _I Love Lucy_. There was no whiskey glass in his hand and Caitlin couldn’t help but feel a little relieved.

“Hey,” Caitlin greeted as she came in. “Quentin’s sleeping.”

Mick sat forward and rubbed a hand over his face, a little surprised that she was still there. “He okay?”

She smiled down at him and nodded, taking a seat on the couch and getting a good look at him. He looked drawn, both physically and mentally exhausted. His eyes were red and swollen, his face was wet and blotchy, and it looked like his hands had taken a beating. She frowned. “He’ll be fine by morning. What about you?”

He peeked at her through his fingers and sighed, holding up his hands to look at them for himself. He hadn’t been the most careful when cleaning up the glass in the kitchen…or when he threw out the bottle of whiskey he kept stored in the back of the cupboard. He’d barely noticed, far too used to pain.

He shook his head. “Just a few cuts and bruises. I’ll be fine.”

She fought off a smile and rolled her eyes. “Do you have a first aid kit?”

“Under the kitchen sink.”

Before he had the chance to protest, she pulled him out of the chair and into the kitchen, guiding him toward one of the chairs.

“Sit,” she ordered, and he obeyed because what choice did he have? She rifled through the cupboard under the sink, glancing over her shoulder. “As concerned as I am about your hands…I was actually talking about your emotional wellbeing.” When he was quiet for too long, she grabbed what she needed out of the kit and turned, lifting an eyebrow. “Mick?”

He sighed and held out his hands when prompted, watching as she worked with practiced movements to clean and bandage his cuts.

“I don’t know what I’m doing,” he finally admitted.

She glanced up from what she was doing, eyes moving over his tired eyes and sullen face. “With Quentin?”

He laughed humorlessly, meeting her gaze. “With any of it.”

She pursed her lips and went back to his hands, cleaning each cut with a cloth before putting Neosporin and bandages on the worst of them. When she was finished, she held onto his hand, staring down at her handiwork. “If it helps, I don’t think any parents ever know what they’re doing when it comes to their kids. You just have to do your best.”

His lips twitched. “You got kids?”

She shook her head. “No.”

“Then it’s easy for you to say, not so easy to do.”

She shrugged, lifting her gaze to meet his. “I work at a public school. I’ve seen plenty of bad parents, Mick, and you’re not one of them.”

He smirked despite himself. “Nah, I’m just the kinda parent that yells at innocent school nurses in front of the students.”

She chuckled. “You’re a little hotheaded. That doesn’t make you a bad dad.”

He smiled softly. “I’m glad someone thinks so.”

She sighed and squeezed his hand before stepping away to take care of the first aid kit. “Quentin doesn’t think you’re a bad dad.”

He squinted at her. “He tell you that?”

Putting the kit back under the sink, she shook her head. “He didn’t need to.” She turned around and leaned back against the sink. “You should hear the way he talks about you at school. He adores you, Mick. He’s so proud of what you do — for him and for the community. He looks up to you, you know. You’re his hero.”

Mick swiped at his eyes with his thumb, clearing his throat. “I didn’t know.”

She frowned and went to him, placing a hand on his shoulder. “He doesn’t expect you to be perfect, Mick. He just expects you to _try,_ to listen to what he has to say and take him seriously.”

He gazed up at her, his damp eyes glistening in the faint light. “You’re gonna be a good mom one day, y’know.”

She blushed. “I don’t think that’s going to happen anytime soon.”

He tilted his head to the side. “Why’s that?”

She smiled sadly. “Because, just like you, I lost someone very dear to me.”

He frowned, hands itching to comfort her. “Sorry won’t make it any better, will it?”

She shook her head, muttering quietly, “No.”

Scooting his chair back, Mick got to his feet and surprised them both by wrapping his arms around her, holding her tightly to his chest. After a moment of astonishment, Caitlin returned the gesture, resting her head on his shoulder.

“Thank you,” he said instead.

“For what?”

“For…” he paused, gathering his thoughts. “Fuck, for everything. For coming over here, for talking to Quent, for helping me out. I can understand why Quentin likes you so much.”

Caitlin smiled, hiding it by ducking her head against his chest. “Quentin’s a good kid and…”

He glanced down at her with a grin, lifting his eyebrows. “And?”

She smiled up at him, running a hand over his shirt to straighten it. “You’re a good dad.”

He huffed a small laugh, cheeks turning a little pink. He glanced down at the plates still on the table and cleared his throat, slowly pulling away from her. “We didn’t really get the chance to finish our dinner…wanna heat it up and watch a movie or something?”

Biting her lip, Caitlin nodded. “I’d like that.”

Although they were both a little tired and had work in the morning, they stayed up into the early hours of the morning, watching movies and talking until the sun came up. For the first time in the year and a half since her death, Mick talked about what happened that night — about the fire he’d accidentally set and hadn’t woken up in time to put out, about getting Quentin out in time but not being able to save Sandra. He talked about his guilt, his regret, and his nightmares.

And Caitlin…she talked about her fiancé Ronnie and how she lost him in the particle accelerator explosion. She talked about her resentment for Harrison Wells and her inability to stay at S.T.A.R. Labs after that night. She talked about trying to find jobs at other labs, but it not being the same without Ronnie there with her. She explained how she tried for years to find a job that wouldn’t remind her of him, how she moved out of the apartment they’d shared and into something smaller with no decorations. And, finally, she talked about becoming a school nurse and how it was the best decision she’d made since saying yes to Ronnie’s wedding proposal.

When Quentin woke up the next morning and saw them curled up on the couch together, he found that he couldn’t be mad at his dad anymore. He couldn’t be mad because he was finally starting to try. He couldn’t be mad because he and Caitlin were finally making an effort to start over — and Quentin, he was okay with that.


End file.
